Please, Leave Me
by Gamesplayers
Summary: It was a trick from destiny, a game of fate, a misfortune. Their union had been doomed. Two beings, made to be together, but unable to do so... Dark and angsty. Rated T for mentionned activities. Possible Spoils. R


**Please, Leave Me**

The first time he admitted to her that he was going to leave, her throat had clenched and she had nodded, not letting her body show what she felt. The first time, she had cried, softly. Though their story was past, feelings had stayed. Though he had betrayed her, a small portion of her soul still desired him.

She wasn't the kind of woman to beg. She would never be. She dreamt daily he would finally ask her forgiveness so she could slap him and yell at him and hurt him like he had done. But in the depth of her heart, she knew she couldn't find that courage. He would ask her forgiveness and she would accept. And he would betray her again.

She longed, waited, hoped and prayed he would come back. Sometimes, she thought it was her fault, that she hadn't make him happy, that she hadn't known how to keep him close.

But time had passed and the wound had healed. She was able to laugh again, to look at other man and sometimes, she could even think about creating something special between her and another man. But every time she was starting to be interesting in someone, every time she would look at another man, she thought about him. If she danced with someone, she would look away; she would flee his gaze because she couldn't admit to that person that it felt wrong to be with him.

She was able to dress sexily again and to make her hair fantastic. She could walk and have all the men's gaze on her. And when she thought she was sexy while staring at her reflection, she wondered how he would react if he saw her like that. She imagined scenarios after scenarios. She could stay there, looking at her, but not seeing how thinking about him would make her sparkling icy eyes become dull and tired.

Sometimes, she would wake up and turn to her left. She would open her eyes and cry because he wasn't there. She would look at this spot in her bed for a long time, remembering the mornings they had spent together. She would never sleep on the left side of her bed.

The second time they had spoken about this, about his incoming departure, she was able to look into his eyes. She was able to answer vocally and to stand, tall and proud. She was able to keep her dignity.

She had thought during entire nights while watching the village sleeping, that maybe, it would be better for both of them if he would leave. She had sit outside and looked at the rising sun. She started to hope he wouldn't be there.

His disappearance would be salvation for her, after all. All that time, all these months, these years, she had been hurt by him. His only presence would feel like thousands of needles piercing her heart and soul. But she had hoped all that time he would come back. And it was precisely that hope that had hurt her. It was that hope that was always deceived because he wouldn't come back.

So she believed, with all her essence, that if he would disappear, she would understand. It would hurt more than ever. She would be depressed, destroyed, but there would be no more hope. No more faith and no more _if_. She would be able to finally start to heal, to bandage that too deep wound. And maybe she would find another man, someday.

But after this conversation, after this resolution was taken and accepted, he would come more and more often to see her, saying he liked to speak with her, he liked her wisdom.

But the tension was always palpable. There were tons of unsaid words, unfinished business and hidden emotions. Sometimes, their hands would brush, or they would try to grab the same object at the same time. His heat, his smell would be appealing, exciting.

Then, it happened. Half-tenderly and with hidden love, shaking hands would travel sometimes fast, sometimes slow to the other's body. But she had pushed him away when they were half-naked, and walked away. She was resolved, though it was hard.

And it would happen again, but this time she was the initiator. And that time, he would be the one to push her away, softly, without any explanation.

She didn't need any specifications: she knew it. They knew everything. They were committing a mistake, a suicide. She could have told him it was a mistake to leave. He would have agreed and he would have stayed. But she didn't.

The third time, she had been the one to talk about his departure and he had been silent. He was regretting it, but he was proud.

She told him his son would be alright, that she would keep an eye on him and she smiled to him before leaving at an energetic pace. But that night, she cried as well.

He would see her less and less. Their conversations would be boring, senseless. He would let his eyes linger on her and he would let her see that he would stay, only if she asked. But she ignored him.

She considered going back with him. He made her feel well, beautiful and alive. But he never knew what he wanted. He couldn't make up his mind clearly about anything. He couldn't bring her any stability and she would always fear he would just leave her, betray her, again.

But he wasn't the only one to blame. She couldn't offer him anything better: she dreamt of going into endless archaeological trips and of saving multiple worlds. She knew what she wanted and she could make up her mind about something.

That was the only thing that kept her from running straight into his arms. They were clearly incompatible.

It was a trick from destiny, a game of fate, a misfortune. Their union had been doomed. Two beings, made to be together, but unable to do so. His hands were made to hold her hips and her lips were carved to lock with his. But their minds drove apart. And they were both to lucid to live a life of uncertainty.

So when the day came, she walked with the rest of the group where he would leave. He was behind her and she could clearly feel his fiery gaze staring straight at her. He hadn't talked much. No one did.

Everybody knew how painful this event would be for Lloyd. What they didn't know, was that it was just as hard for Raine.

When his silhouette had finally disappeared, she walked back home with the others. And she spent the rest of the day with everybody else.

But at night, when Genis was finally asleep, she allowed herself to fall on her knees and sob quietly. She was right: it hurt, it was killing her, shattering her soul, burning her heart. But she couldn't hope anymore and she smiled as she sobbed, her mouth muffled in her blanket and pillow.

It was the beginning of the end. Finally.

* * *

Hi.

I just couldn't keep this inside anymore. So I wrote something with it.

Review, please.

Gamesplayers


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